Oscar Wilde

“ GUIDO: Honest Simone,
Some other night. To-night I am content
With the low music of Bianca's voice,
Who, when she speaks, charms the too amorous air,
And makes the reeling earth stand still, or fix
His cycle round her beauty.
SIMONE: You flatter her.
She has her virtues as most women have,
But beauty in a gem she may not wear. ”

“ Has waked a world of dreamers. I will stand
Upon the balcony.
GUIDO: And by a ladder
Wrought out of scarlet silk and sewn with pearls
Will come to meet me. White foot after foot,
Like snow upon a rose-tree.
BIANCA: As you will.
You know that I am yours for love or Death.
GUIDO: Simone, I must go to mine own house.
SIMONE: So soon? Why should you? The great Duomo's bell
Has not yet tolled its midnight, and the watchmen
Who with their hollow horns mock the pale moon,
Lie drowsy in their towers. Stay awhile. ”

“ GUIDO: What if I asked
For white Bianca here?
SIMONE: You jest, my Lord;
She is not worthy of so great a Prince.
She is but made to keep the house and spin.
Is it not so, good wife? It is so. Look!
Your distaff waits for you. Sit down and spin.
Women should not be idle in their homes,
For idle fingers make a thoughtless heart.
Sit down, I say.
BIANCA: What shall I spin?
SIMONE: Oh! ”

“ Lest what is but a jest grow serious.
BIANCA [To Guido] . Oh! kill him, kill him!
SIMONE: Hold the torch, Bianca. [They begin to fight.]
SIMONE: Have at you! Ah! Ha! would you?
[He is wounded by GUIDO.]
A scratch, no more. ”

“ Of husbands that wear horns, and wear them bravely,
A fashion most fantastical.
GUIDO: Simone,
Your reckless tongue needs curbing; and besides,
You do forget this gracious lady here
Whose delicate ears are surely not attuned
To such coarse music.
SIMONE: True: I had forgotten,
Nor will offend again. Yet, my sweet Lord,
You'll buy the robe of state. Will you not buy it? ”

“ Perils his soul and body in the theft
And dies for his small sin. From what strange clay
We men are moulded!
GUIDO: Why do you speak like this?
SIMONE: I wonder, my Lord Guido, if my sword
Is better tempered than this steel of yours? ”

“ Bidding him cross that shield of snow, the Alps,
And make a peace in Italy, which will be
Worse than a war of brothers, and more bloody
Than civil rapine or intestine feuds.
GUIDO: Oh! we are weary of that King of France,
Who never comes, but ever talks of coming.
What are these things to me? There are other things
Closer, and of more import, good Simone.
BIANCA [To Simone] . I think you tire our most gracious guest.
What is the King of France to us? As much
As are your English merchants with their wool.
SIMONE: Is it so then? ”

“ Most pitiful being just. As for myself.::
GUIDO: Oh! help me, sweet Bianca! help me, Bianca,
Thou knowest I am innocent of harm.
SIMONE: What, is there life yet in those lying lips?
Die like a dog with lolling tongue! ”

“ So run folks' tongues in Florence. I meant but that.
Men say they envy your inheritance
And look upon your vineyards with fierce eyes
As Ahab looked on Naboth's goodly field.
But that is but the chatter of a town
Where women talk too much. ”